


as vicious as roman rule

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Memories, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There nothing more childish than a fear of the dark, but Sylvain knows it is wiser to fear it than to let it consume him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41
Collections: Anonymous





	as vicious as roman rule

Sylvain doesn't like the dark.

It wasn't always this way. He remembers catching fireflies as a child in the forests of Mount Gautier, among the rolling, verdant hills and the long shadows of the ancient redwoods. His brother used to bring him up and leave him there for hours at a time, always welcoming him home with a tired smile whenever Sylvain had enough and wandered back, navigating with the stars. 

Sylvain appreciated it-- somehow, the only times he was left alone by his stodgy tutors was when his brother managed to smuggle him out from under the warmth of his cloak; the wool always itched under Sylvain's small, pale fingers.

Sylvain doesn't wear wool cloaks now; the memory of the discomfort had burnt into his mind from days gone yonder by.

He used to like the stars; he would watch the light twinkle under his fingertips as he raised his hands towards the sky. They fueled his dreams of flight and freedom. 

The gift of flight was truly extraordinary, but Sylvain remembers catching fireflies at night and trapping them inside glass jars. In the morning, they would all be dead. Being gifted means nothing if it couldn't set you free. If anything, great beauty meant you were likely to be pinned down and kept, like the delicate corpses of butterflies framed in his father's study. So maybe Sylvain doesn’t like beautiful things too.

If he were to be pedantic, he doesn't like being _beautiful._ Beautiful things were fine to look at and to own.

The stars were mediocre now. He rarely uses them to navigate, having graduated from the sky to the map and compass. 

When Sylvain thinks of the dark, he remembers this: waiting in the dark of a winter night, listening to the sound of crickets mark the hours that had gone by. The clouds in the sky obscured the stars and moon, offering him no respite. 

The biting cold ate into him from his toes and up; the dredges of the water below him had swallowed him whole. He had bloodied his fingers against the rough stones of the well. He'd looked at them and thought, _oh_. 

He knows what his parents would have said, _'Oh, how clumsy'._

His brother had looked at him and said, _'Oh, how foolish,'_ before he had left Sylvain there in the darkness.

He had wanted nothing more than to leap up and fly away.

Sylvain thought Miklan would come for him eventually like he had every other time he'd left him in the cold.

Miklan did not come for him, and Sylvain was left with a sharp dislike for the dark and a sense of numbness that set deep into his bones.

But it was fine. 

As long as he had somebody to keep him company or a beautiful warm body to hold at night, the darkness can not eat at him.


End file.
